Lawrence sat up erect. He began to brace himself for he knew not what.
"You might hear it from some one else, now—"
"Hear what?" in an imperative voice.
Mrs. Ffolliott twisted her fingers together. But she tried to go on.
"That day when Prudence went bicycling with Lord Maxwell—"
"Yes, I have her letter; I know all about it," he said, in a hard voice. "Don't be afraid to speak of it."
"No, you don't know. Oh, how can I tell it? She was killed. They were run into; she was thrown on to a rock,—killed instantly. Lord Maxwell was badly hurt, but is nearly recovered. We couldn't tell you before. We knew it the next day. Oh, the dreadful, dreadful thing!"
Mrs. Ffolliott had risen. "Oh, don't look so!" she cried.
"Aunt Tishy, please leave me a few minutes."
She could hardly hear what he said, but she did hear it, and walked away.